Picture Perfect
by Reverie
Summary: [Still try to come because you complete the picture.perfectness of it all. Still try to come because it would still be picture perfect without everything else save you.] Oneshot RHm.


_Real Summary:_ Ron writes (or at least he thinks he writes) to get Hermione to come to the Burrow for Christmas Eve. Bittersweet oneshot.Bitterness partially because of bad writing.

_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_A/N:T_he text formatting isn't working very well for me. Sigh. The "Happy Christmas, wish you were here part" should appear as crossed.out, and the dashes are nowhere to be seen. I'll just post this crude version first until I find some way toget rid ofthe rough edges, just because I don't know what else to do.

Thanks a lot for the beta reading, Maris! I owe you a lot! And Merry Christmas to everyone!

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Picture Perfect**

Dear Hermione,

We're all so sorry you couldn't come here for Christmas. Especially me, of course. I'm not saying I'm sorry you couldn't come here for especially me, why couldn't I get this bloody sentence right, it's just that... anyway.

Maybe you just needed to spend time with your Muggle relatives now that you still have the chance, or maybe you just had to write a book campaigning for the rights of house elves at this very moment who knows what goes on in that great big head of yours? Everyone worries about me just because you needed to get away right now, at Christmas Eve, but as for me you really don't need to explain things to other people that much because you're Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake what in the world could happen to someone like you?

I really don't see what the fuss is all about.

Really.

Anyway, Christmas Eve here at the Burrow is picture perfect, at least from the outside. Our house still looks as lopsided as ever, but Dad charmed some strings of little Muggle lights to blink different colors without eckeltricity, and then hung them all around the house. Mum was scowling the whole time as was expected but she did admit that they helped lighten things up a bit.

The snow's not bad, too. It just started to stop falling, I think, but I'm sure the rest'll all go down sometime before dinner. Fred and George actually built twin snowgnomes five to six feet tall some two hours ago, and they look real great. I think they're still outside doing giant snowballs now to greet Percy with, just in case he shows up, the bastard.

I can't believe it's Christmas Eve. Nah, lemme just write that again, I don't have any long roll of parchment left to rewrite this bloody letter in for the seventh time and I know for a fact that you hate messy anything so I wouldn't dare cross the first statement out, don't worry.

I can't believe we're still celebrating Christmas Eve when things are getting even uglier than usual. Sometimes I wonder why we even stopped by the Burrow just until tomorrow morning, but Harry says, or at least I think he says, that we need to still celebrate Christmas and at least act happy because he's got nothing else to be happy about in a long time and he probably never will. I think I understand, but he's still speaking in riddles all the time and so I don't really know if I do understand. Maybe he knows that I just don't want to understand his ranting as much as he himself does. Oh well.

Now's the part where you pose in your patented bossy pose and tell me that I'm not making any sense myself. I'm really sorry Hermione, but nothing really makes sense to me these days. Nothing probably ever will, except the fact that I love you, and by some blessed twist of fate, you love me back.

Made you smile there, didn't I? Ha!

Hey, you better be smiling, I worked up that "blessed twist of fate" thing in my head for an hour or two. This was the least stupid, least girly line I could come up with.

Anyway, I have this theory wherein you were Imperio-ed by some madman other than Voldemort to fall in love with me. If that was it, I wish I knew his address so I could give him a proper thank.you, and maybe even a Christmas present too.

I know it sucks almost.impossibly worse than that "blessed twist of fate" part, but I just can't think clearly about anything.

Well, at least about anything else but you.

Now _that_ was girly and sucked way more than the "madman Imperio" part, but I tried to say it in a more sensible way and nothing worked. Sorry about that. Maybe it's because it doesn't have to have sense anyway.

I'm finally getting the hang of this last-mushy-sentence criticism, aren't I?

Don't even think of hitting me with your old ton-heavy schoolbook on Way.Too.Advanced Arithmancy or whatever subject it was, you did it once and it went sore ,not to mention red, as hell for a day, remember, because you swore to hex me if I did something to ease the pain even a little bit? And no more 'mild' jinxes, I've had enough of your 'mildness' every time you caught Harry and me not paying attention to whatever it was you wanted us to pay attention to.

You could pout though with that frowning pout of yours. I've always liked it. Hey, maybe that was it, maybe I always love to piss you off just to see you do it.

(Happy Christmas! Wish you were here!)

I'm sorry if I messed up the parchment, but I just don't understand why you aren't here. You promised you'd stay here for the holidays, but you're not here, and I don't really know why. I just don't.

Something tells me I just don't want to, but to hell with it.

It's not too late, you know. Still try to come so that everything inside the Burrow will be bloody picture perfect too, even with the whole wizardingwar thing, and my hand, and head, won't hurt too much from finding that exact word to write because I wouldn't be writing this bloody letter in the first place.

We'll most likely throw snowballs at each other, you and me and everybody else who'd care to join, maybe all the while half.hoping that when a snowball hits you it does so right smack at your forehead and it does so hard enough to make you forget that not everyone might make it out of the battlefield next time.

This letter's getting a bit depressing, hasn't it? Why do I keep on coming back to the ugly parts of the story? I'm sorry I can't focus my thoughts at a single thing, I'm not very good at organizing my thoughts, and you of all people should know that!

Trying to organize my thoughts now… Still trying…

Still try to come so that all my scheming and plotting to get you a nice, lovey.dovey Christmas present wouldn't be all for nothing, and I could pass you a note during dinner telling you I'll give you your present at the hill at midnight. You'd then go there just to see what the fuss was all about, definitely not expecting a choir of stupid Lockhart cupids and definitely not expecting the stupid choir to sing your bloody present.

I tried to just charm the garden gnomes or something to make them sing decently because the blasted cupids were expensive, but Harry forced.lent me some Galleons two days before and I wanted to do something so sickeningly sweet, you wouldn't expect it of me. Here's the song anyway:

_Her eyes are brown, plain like this fake Valentine_

_Her hair is a mess but it's just fine_

_I think she's so lovely, she maybe divine_

_The hero who conquered this heart of mine._

Still try to come so that I could expect the usual verbal Crucio one stupid Ronald Weasley should expects from one brilliant Hermione Granger. You'd frown at the fake Valentine and say that you know it's "fake" because it's Christmas, for Merlin's sake, but you would wish I thought of the lyrics a bit more. You'd say that my little present even made fun of you. You'd say that I should've used "heroine" instead of "hero", but "heroine" won't fit in my song nicely at all.

Oh yeah, you'd say that I borrowed almost everything from Ginny's own Valentine to Harry back in our second year, and so it shouldn't be considered as _my _song in the first place. You mentioned intellectual property rights or something way back during our fourth year, right? You see, I do listen sometimes! I really, really tried not to borrow the "divine" part so as to avoid your _further_ wrath but poetry isn't exactly my strongest point.

I'm sorry Miss Prefect, or Miss Perfect, or whatever title you fancy, but I was hoping you'd just beam at me and kiss me like there was no tomorrow, you know. You could save the harsh words for later, you know, considering the fact that it took me three days to come up with that piece of poetic trash which I still insist on calling my song and your present because I've got nothing else to offer. You know.

I seriously thought of doing "Hermione is My Queen", but Malfoy's smug face kept sprouting in my head and I didn't want his ferretism there contaminating your present.

Still try to come because you complete the picture.perfectness of it all... moon, stars, cold breeze, stupid cupids, snow starting to fall down, me and you and a kiss. Still try to come because it would still be picture perfect without everything else save you.

Still try to come so I could tell you everything then that your love is the thing that keeps me smiling the most, that copying down all those stupid declarations of love in Mum's racy romance novels in the attic can't even begin to describe how I feel, that I'm so bloody sorry you had to tell me you love me first, and that I'm even bloody sorrier that you did not hear me say I love you back, because now it is too late.

Still try to come and tell me yourself that it isn't too late for anything, for everything, because you are here, now, with me, and I have no reason to cry my heart out the way I'm doing now, so sorry to mess up the parchment even more, because the endings of Mum's romance novels do happen in reality and we _will_ live happily ever after, stupid cupids singing in the background and all.

Incendio.

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_A/N:_ Notable influences include two fics, Strega Brava's "If You Were Awake" and Slumber's "I'll Be Home for Christmas", Norah Jones' song "Come Away with Me", and lack of sleep (which may explain the whole mess). This is my first completed work of fanfiction, and my Christmas present to myself, so please review. I know it's amateurish and all (not to mention the awkward text formatting), but I would love feedback on the content!


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